


Slip The Leash

by Tricki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Magic, Snarky potions masters going on date nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-04-24 15:39:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19176307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tricki/pseuds/Tricki
Summary: They restrict their outings to evenings, two of the world’s most skilled magicians slipping through the continents for a few hours at a time in the dead of night. [HecatexSeverus]





	1. In the Current My Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you for coming back! This is a four chapter fic I've been trying to finish off for a little while. I hope you enjoy it. I basically wanted to do a date night fic for the Snarky Potion Masters, but the logistical challenges made it so much more fun to write. 
> 
> The title is from a truly gorgeous Jess Ribeiro song of the same name. The lyrics hit me for them pretty hard. 
> 
> "You can have everything right here beside me  
> All you have to do is  
> Take a risk and   
> Slip the leash"
> 
> Go listen to it, it's gorgeous. 
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy the antics. I don't own them at all.

Hecate Hardbroom and Severus Snape try to keep away from the gaze of others as much as possible.  They are private people.  They have managed to keep their marriage secret for years now, and don’t wish to break the streak.  To top it off, they are in near constant danger from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  While there are good reasons Hecate and Severus rarely venture to public places together, this has never quelled the couple’s desire to imprint their history on new pieces of the world.  They restrict their outings to evenings, two of the world’s most skilled magicians slipping through the continents for a few hours at a time in the dead of night. 

They take whatever opportunity for an evening outing they can, taking turns to surprise the other with their destination.  The lover responsible for the destination is also responsible for the mode of travel.  This is one of the small issues our pair chooses to quibble over in their relationship.  Apparating still doesn't quite agree with Hecate, and Severus dislikes the lack of control he has when she uses transfer spells.  But this is, of course, a minor rankle in an otherwise harmonious coexistence.

Severus also doesn’t much like riding broomsticks.  He can, at a pinch, but it has always seemed to him the least efficient mode of magical transportation.  Given this, he is somewhat put out when his wife calmly hands him his broomstick before they set out for the night’s outing.  He has spent the afternoon relaxing himself into the idea of transferring, not flying. 

Hecate is wearing a heavy travelling cloak, hat, and gloves.  There is no indication she is joking.  She eyes him with an eyebrow cocked, silently asking what he’s waiting for.  She is already perched primly on her own hovering broomstick.  She is the archetypal witch at this moment in time.  Were he not so confused by what they’re about to do, he might kiss her. 

“Severus?”  She queries, snapping him out of his reverie. 

“My apologies.”  He says, mounting the broom and kicking off from the ground.  They fly ten metres into the air, and Severus turns to her.  “Might I have some indication of where we’re going?” 

“No, you may not.  You may follow along like a good boy.”  Her eyes flash wickedly, and Severus tries to quell his flash of irritation at the phrase ‘good boy’.  Hecate waves her hand and Severus’ broom aligns itself to hers.  She has cast an obedience spell upon it.  He has never been more irritated by her, regardless of how much he loves her.  They fly for an hour; at one point, frustrated, Severus decides to peel ahead of her.  His broom falls back in line with hers, bound by her spell.  He glares at her half-heartedly, while his wife shoots him a wry smile. 

“Let’s restrict races to times we both know where we’re going, shall we, Professor?”  He can’t help but be swept up in her, and the suggestion of a smile fights its way onto his lips. 

He spends the rest of the flight trying to devise some kind of revenge to take against her when their destination is next his selection. 

By the time Severus cannot feel his fingers from the chill wind whipping at him, Hecate begins their descent, landing them neatly on the tessellated-tile floor of an elaborate cast iron bandstand.  The bandstand is located on a small island, and occupies almost the entirety of the space.  There is no one else present; Hecate removes her gloves primly and waves a newly bare hand to make the lanterns spark to life.  Severus looks about himself, noting the astrological chart depicted on the tiles beneath his feet.  Particular points on the moon cycle are marked with symbols Severus has never before come upon.  He knows the moon cycle well enough, however, to note that they have arrived here at a marked time. 

“I take it this is more than a random visit?”  He asks, gesturing to the tiles. 

“You are a quick study sometimes, aren’t you, darling?”  She drawls with a provocative glint in her eyes.  He would swear any oath that the longer they are married the more frequently this drawling tone pops up.  If asked Hecate would claim she’s caught the affectation from her husband. 

Severus, irritable and frustrated from the journey, pulls his wife roughly against his chest.  He is mid-way through deciding whether to kiss her or growl some playful threat at her, like tying her up and teasing her to near death. 

Before he can decide which, a noise distracts him, the sound coming from the rocks beyond the island.  Severus is too distracted to notice his wife gently bringing her hands to his elbows.  His face is turned out to the ocean, while hers remains trained on him, watching him calculate and consider. 

Slowly, he realises the sound from the rocks is in fact singing. 

“Who is out there?”  Severus asks her, tight and anxious at the prospect of being discovered. 

“Mermaids.”  Hecate replies calmly. 

“Mermaid song cannot be heard above water.”  Severus says, turning back to her.  His tension is amusing her, but she attempts to conceal it.  She knows she’s at very real risk of aggravating him to the point where he no longer enjoys the evening. 

“The Hogwarts mermaids are freshwater mermaids, Severus.  Saltwater mermaids have long tempted sailors to their death singing from the shore.” 

In truth, Severus’ knowledge of magical creatures is rather restricted to those he can use in potions.  He’s never paid that much mind to mermaid songs, has never felt let-down enough by not hearing the Hogwarts mermaids sing to seek out a different species of the creature.  As the song begins in earnest, twelve chairs rise from the floor of the bandstand, for the regular viewers.  Hecate frees herself from him gently, leaving one hand curved around his so she can lead him to a seat. 

Sensing his reluctance, Hecate says “People don’t often come to see the mermaids sing this late.  The light attracts them back for a later performance.” 

With this in mind he sinks willingly into the seat beside her

Having never heard the music of mermaids, Severus is quickly taken by the beauty of it, drawn into their warm, alluring song.  Severus comes to understand why muggles shipwreck themselves to find the source of such beautiful music. 

Hecate loses herself in the sound of the waves, the gentle saline breeze whispering over her face, and lets these qualities enhance the music.  The song is enchanting, and the mermaids performing it beautiful.  Saltwater mermaids are more humanoid than their freshwater counterparts, closer to those that pervade muggle fairy tales.  Hecate studies the rich hues of their gleaming tales, the wet lengths of their hair cascading over their bare torsos.  For a brief moment, Hecate wonders at the wisdom of taking her husband to listen to the entirely enchanting music of bare-breasted women, but when she turns to him, she finds his gaze already upon her.  Severus lifts his hand and caresses her face.  His eyes are soft as he runs them over her, and Hecate almost shies from the intensity of his affection.  She nuzzles into his hand, before peeling it from her face and leaving their fingers laced together, dangling between their chairs. 

The mermaids sing of love, and desire.  They sing of the ever-changing but constant nature of the ocean, of the world no human will ever truly know.  Severus lets the words wash over him, the melodies calming, even though some of the mermaids’ words are hitting rather too close to home.  The love of which they sing is eternal and earth shifting.  The kind of love that alters one to their very molecules.   It is the kind of love Severus feels for his wife.  

Even if they were in the middle of a crowded London street rather than some unknown corner of the ocean, Severus would feel they were the only people for miles, with the mermaids’ song directed just at them. 

_A love that’s fit to outlast time_

_Is but a breath away._

_Yet such a love, beest thine,_

_Slips further every day._

_With this love you must entwine_

_And trust us when we say_

_For reasons, ill, true, or divine,_

_Should someone gift their heart to you_

_That bond you never can undo._

When the mermaids have been reached their threshold for being in the air, they draw their performance to a close and dive extravagantly back into the ocean.  The couple rises, and the chairs are absorbed once more by the tiled floor.  Severus rests his forehead against his wife’s, holding her softly by the waist. 

“Thank you for educating me on the subject of mermaids, Cate.”  He mumbles. 

Hecate smirks.  “Someone needs to continue your education, darling.” 

She moves away from him, handing him his broomstick.  Hecate sees, rather than hears, her husband groaning at the thought of the return journey.  She crosses to kiss him, to soothe his displeasure with her mouth.  It works momentarily, but as soon as they part his expression clouds over a little.  She moves his unoccupied hand to her waist, and with her eyes glinting wryly, Hecate transfers them back to the cottage. 

Severus is turned about when they land, taking in the familiar room suspiciously, as if she’s transfigured the bandstand simply to lull him into a false sense of security.  While he’s adjusting to the idea, Hecate transfers their broomsticks to the stand in the kitchen and sheds her travelling cloak.  Severus looks to his now empty hand with a frown. 

“Dare I ask why we were required to fly towards our destination but not home?”

Hecate looks at him levelly.  “‘Required’ is somewhat an overstatement.”  She continues moving about their kitchen, making unnecessary little adjustments to the objects about the room.  She can feel his eyes bore questioningly into her back.  When she turns to face him once more, she answers his unasked question.  “The journey there was for dramatic effect.” 

She can see his blood-pressure increasing from across the room, decides to catch it before he gives himself a headache.  Hecate ghosts up behind him and breathes against the back of his neck “You should never underestimate the benefits of anticipation, Severus…” 

He can no longer find it within himself to be irritated with her.


	2. These Four Faded Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus resists bringing her here for years on end, but eventually the desire to show her his roots overtakes him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovelies! 
> 
> I promise this chapter is as heavy as anything in this story will get. 
> 
> The title is a nod to Philip Quast's version of Four Faded Walls. The lyrics don't all fit but the song makes me cry, so...
> 
> I hope you enjoy! x

Severus resists bringing her here for years on end, but eventually the desire to show her his roots overtakes him.  Severus apparates with her hand in his, rather than her arm through his, as is their usual custom.  She notes the change in him – she always does.  The quirks of his manner are as familiar to her as the order of her powdered potion ingredients drawer.  

She does not comment on the grungy street they land in, the evidence of an industry that’s no longer able to support itself in the area.  She remains silent at his side, eyes running over his profile contemplatively.  While she stands silently beside him, Hecate ponders how very unlike their usual evening outing locations this one is.  They have travelled to every continent in the dead of night, done unimaginable things.  She wonders if there’s some kind of venue concealed in one of these run-down old buildings.  She wouldn’t object to a drink, or three.  And if it’s to be three, then perhaps even a dance.  But Severus’ hand tightens around hers, and Hecate can feel tension rolling off him.  Her impulse is to soothe him, but she remains in place, knowing he will speak when he’s ready.  It is certainly not the aura of a man about to spend an evening in a secret bar with his wife. 

“This village is where I grew up.”  Severus says at long last, trying to quell the tension rearing in him at bringing her to this place.  Sensing his discomfort Hecate draws nearer to him, winding her free hand around his upper arm. 

The street they’re on is perfectly symmetrical, each house a mirror of the one opposite it, each in the same state of disrepair.  A layer of black grime coats the once red bricks.  Hecate can imagine her husband here as a child, from the few scraps of information he’s given her about his youth.  However, she can only imagine a worn-down version of him, grey and diminished.  She struggles to imagine the youth of the man she knows, imaginative and inventive, and, yes, passionate, being stimulated here. 

Severus waves his wand and all the street lights are extinguished, leaving them in near total darkness.  He would rather show her in the daylight, which is how he best knew the place, but the Death Eaters know his home, and he feels more at ease keeping her safe in the shadows. 

He moves off without a word, and Hecate keeps close beside him.  He leads her down the neglected and grimy streets until he stops before a property indistinguishable from every other on the street.  He plays the gentleman, ushers her through a gate that’s barely still on its hinges, before murmuring an incantation to open the door. 

Hecate steps over the threshold delicately, her eyes travelling over the walls and doors, noting the absence of pictures, of all personal effects but for books. 

“You’ve kept it after all these years?”  Hecate asks softly, turning back to her husband. 

“It has proven useful for certain assignations with my… after-hours colleagues.”  Her lip ticks at his euphemism for Death Eaters.  She never asks for details of his assignments.  She trusts that he will give her as many as he can, or wants to; but she is troubled that she didn’t know something as significant as his continued ownership of his childhood home.  She can see no sentimental reason for it.  All the stories he’s told her of his childhood indicated he had rather a miserable time here. 

“Do you mind…” she trails her fingers absently over the edge of a walnut hall table before glancing back up at him.  Her expression is carefully guarded, and he knows it.  “How little I ask you about your evenings as a Death Eater?” 

“I appreciate the escape.”  Hecate nods slightly at him, still analysing his gaze for evidence of mistruth.  She finds none, finds that, as always, he is being honest with her.  She holds out her hand for his, takes comfort in the familiar way he squeezes her fingers. 

He takes her through the house, running a seemingly causal but carefully selected commentary on each part of the groaning building.  How he hid in what was the lounge, which then became a makeshift library because of his mother’s influence.  The library is the room that most resembles the house Hecate and Severus share now – books on every surface, dark rich colours.  Hecate feels almost at home in it, but there is the lingering, underlying feeling of danger about the place.  She can’t quite tell whether this is Severus’ discomfort at being here, or the violence that has occurred here has seeped into the walls. 

He tells her stories of his mother, teaching him little magical tricks, many of which he still utilises to this day.  Hecate is running her fingers and gaze over the many books in the collection, when she remarks “I can’t see any children’s books.”  Severus tells her of his mother’s aversion to children’s stories, her refusal to tell him fairy tales, or anything that wasn’t based in reality.  To this day he has never heard the Tales of Beadle the Bard. 

Hecate considers him.  She had access to all sorts of fantastical tales as a child, she simply never placed any stock in them.  The man her husband grew into seems such an inevitability after a childhood like his.  Hecate herself was born serious, but she wonders if Severus simply had no choice. 

But he speaks with warmth about his mother, affection lacing his anecdotes.  These, however, seem to become darker the deeper into the house they journey.  He points out the kitchen cupboard he most often hid in when his parents were fighting.  Upstairs, he tells her of the time his father struck his mother across the face so hard she fell into a mirror and was badly lacerated.  Hecate tries to be stoic throughout his tales, but this one breaks her resolve.  She strokes his cheek to bring him out of his reverie, back to her.  He drops his forehead to hers, and with closed eyes continues his tale.  The sight that greeted him once he left the cupboard and ran into the room, his mother covered in blood, and almost shaking from the effort of healing herself in such a diminished state. 

“I was too young to assist her.” 

Hecate moves her hand from his cheek to the back of his head, twining her fingers through his hair and wishing to be more comfort than she is.  “You must have been terrified.”  She whispers.  He opens his eyes to meet her gaze, tender and concerned and somehow, always, radiating absolute love for him. 

 

He straightens, settles one of his own hands around her neck.  His little finger sneaks its way beneath the collar of her dress, searching for her shoulder.  “I suppose I was.  I recall being shocked.” 

She runs her fingers softly through his hair, curving the length of it around his jaw.  “I’m sure you were.” 

Severus moves his hands to the curve of her waist, grounding himself in her as best he can.  Remembering himself as the little boy who lived in this house, the little boy who believed the only chance of happiness he had was Lily Evans.  Severus can scarcely believe he has a wife now, a woman who loves him so genuinely.  He takes her hand again, about to continue the tour, to show her where he slept as a child, when there is a frenzied knock on the door below.  Severus is instantly furious with himself for bringing her here, for endangering her simply to unburden himself of the past.  When he turns to her, he is calm but insistent.  “You must leave.” 

“Severus – ”  Her tone is part warning, part protest.  She doesn’t want to leave him in a situation that has clearly taken him by surprise, a situation that may be dangerous.  Severus cups her face again, turning her head so he’s certain she’s meeting his gaze.  Without her realising it, Hecate’s hand has risen to wrap around his. 

“I have no time to argue with you, Cate.  I will meet you at home.”  Severus kisses her firmly, in the way that tells her he will not be argued with.  “I love you.”  Hecate kisses him again, while the banging begins again downstairs.

“And I love you.”  She murmurs, before vanishing out of his arms and into thin air. 

Severus races down the stairs as quietly as possible, taking a moment to compose himself before opening the door on the enraged figure of Lucius Malfoy. 

“Severus, what in Merlin’s name took you so long?  I might have been detected!”  

“My apologies, Lucius.”  Severus admits him to the house and thanks whatever luck he has left in the world that his unexpected visitor was not someone more dangerous than Lucius Malfoy. 

 

_x_

 

Hecate is checking the labels on their multitude of potion ingredients when Severus apparates back into their cottage.  She is so tense with anxiety for him to return she nearly drops a phial of bee-sting slivers when he does.  Carelessly, she returns the phial to their normally perfectly-ordered collection and crosses to her husband.

“Severus.”  She breathes as she sinks into his arms.  He seems unharmed, and Hecate nearly trembles with relief.  She searches his face for clues about the encounter before she asks him, hoping to read the situation before he can downplay it. 

“Are you alright?”  She asks once almost completely satisfied that he is.  Severus nods and drops his forehead to hers.  Their breathing quickly synchronises, their heart rates soon follows.  Hecate is faced with the uncomfortable realisation that, perhaps it isn’t respect for Severus’ right to disclose information as he wishes that stops her asking him more about his work for Voldemort, but her own fear.  Faced with tonight, Hecate realises some part of her is happier not being privy to all the logistical details of his assignments. 

“Who?” 

“Lucius.  It was a straightforward problem.”  Hecate nods against him, noticing now how tightly she has fisted her hand in his ebony hair.  Severus runs a hand soothingly up and down the length of her waist, waiting for the moment she begins to relax against him and finding it elusive.  “I apologies for the abrupt end to our evening, Cate.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for.”  She whispers.  Severus pecks her lips and releases her far too quickly for her taste. 

“Why don’t you sit down?  I’ll be in in a moment.”  Hecate doesn’t argue with him, an indication of how shaken she is.  She passes into their lounge room and takes up her usual place.  Severus returns with two glasses of firewhiskey.  That he poured them himself rather than summoning them with magic similarly shows how shaken he is by the experience.  Surprising her again, Severus lifts his old chess set down from the shelf it lives upon, and begins setting up the board manually.  Hecate watches him quietly, takes in the nimble fingers that have made some of the most complex potions known to wizard kind, the calm face she has spent so much of her time and not nearly enough of her time studying.  His task complete, Severus settles opposite her.

“A lower risk diversion for the evening.”  He says, the corner of his mouth ticking in a half-hearted smile – a smile that is entirely for her benefit.  She bends forward and touches her glass to his, glad of his proposed diversion. 

And diverting it is, in the brutal way of wizard chess.  Hecate’s tiny black army does an admirable job.  Near the end of the game she looks up at him, a wry, competitive smile playing about her lips.  “Severus, you’re at very real risk of losing your queen.” 

“I believe I won the queen some years ago.”  She rolls her eyes at him, but smiles to herself.  Losing him seems like a much less tangible threat now than losing the game.  He makes the best move he can to defend his queen, but it’s insufficient.  Hecate is about to set her bishop on his queen when suddenly she looks up at him again, no trace of humour in her now.  “Severus?”

“Are you trying to prolong the agony, Cate?”

She ignores the question.  “Will you take me there again one day?” 

Severus studies his wife carefully, considers the memories he has of the house in Spinner’s End, the unhappiness, the desperate desire to escape.  He considers the danger he placed her in by taking her there, what might have happened to her had she been discovered. 

“I think the past may be best left in the past now.  The future is far more appealing.”  Hecate holds his gaze while he says this, reads all the many layers of subtext behind his words, and nods.  At her command, his queen is dramatically slaughtered by her bishop, and his king is placed in check-mate.  Hecate stretches and rises from her seat, a satisfied smile playing about your lips. 

“Congratulations on your assassination of my queen, and subsequent victory.” 

Hecate smiles patiently at her husband, running her hand fondly along the backs of shoulders as she passes behind him.  “I think you’ve rather missed the point, darling.”  Severus turns sharply to her, and she stills.

“At no point was my aim to destroy your queen.”  She bends to kiss him, and he is torn between revelling in the feeling of her mouth against his and needing to know the end of her thought.  Her hand is still cupping his face when she straightens.  She swipes a finger over his lips, teasing him cruelly.  “My intention is only ever to protect my king.” 

With that, Hecate sweeps out of the room and into the bedroom, internally counting down the seconds (five) until her husband follows her, and the anxiety of the evening can truly melt away from them. 


	3. The Professor & La Fille Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 11:39pm precisely, Severus takes Hecate’s hands and winces in anticipation of his body being hurtled through space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for the lovely comments. They mean so much. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, too. I was going to say it's a little mushy, but really this whole fic is shameless mushy-times. 
> 
> The title comes from a Damien Rice song that I adore. There's a pattern emerging here. 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

****The next time their destination is Hecate’s choice, Severus attempts to glean clues by her attire.  Her ensemble varies very little, the only hint given by the presence or absence of a cloak and hat. Sometimes she wears them unnecessarily to throw him off, and tonight is one such night.

At 11:39pm precisely, Severus takes Hecate’s hands and winces in anticipation of his body being hurtled through space.  Hecate’s lips curl wryly.  She mumbles “Surely it isn’t that bad, Severus,” before lulling him into a false sense of security by pressing her lips to his and transferring them before his brain can catch up with his body. 

When their feet are back on solid ground a millisecond later, Hecate sweeps her cloak and hat from her body and lays them over an object Severus realises, once his eyes adjust, is a piece of lacework garden furniture.

Hecate moves around the space as if she has spent many, many evenings here. She waves her hand and a number of old fashioned oil lamps spring to life around the room.  It reveals itself as a palatial stand-alone conservatory.  The space is filled with life and greenery; it's connected to the natural world in a way that has always captivated his wife. 

“And where in the world might we be, Cate?”  She is paying him very little attention, strolling around the space and inspecting the various aspects of it. 

She has a way with living things, when she chooses to.  They tend to swell and bloom under her touch.  The plants she runs her hands over in this once grand conservatory are no exception.  A neglected orchid grows buds and flowers before his eyes after she traces the underside of a leaf.  A fern perks up just from brushing against her shoulder as she passes.

“My grandmother fell in love with a muggle in her youth.”  Severus watches her, knowing her well enough to sense she will continue without his intervention.  It is a piece of the puzzle that is his wife which she has not previously shown him.  It clarifies some small details around her edges.

“He was to be the Lord of this estate one day, after his parents’ deaths.  His parents didn’t approve of her.  The did not consider her to be of appropriate standing for the family.  He refused to give her up for it, but he rather changed his mind when she showed him her magical abilities.  He told her he could withstand her” she hesitates for a fraction of a second, rubbing the leaf of a peace lily between her fingers thoughtfully, trying to recall the exact word her grandmother used when relaying the story.  “ _Peculiarities_.  But he had a duty to the family to bring appropriate heirs into the world.”  Hecate turns to Severus now, her gaze even and penetrating.  “One would have thought the ability to bend the elements to one’s will might appeal to a minor royal, but nothing of the sort seemed to occur to whichever Lord Edward my grandmother so loved.” 

Severus has remained perfectly still for her tale, while she has made a slow tour of the room. 

“Nevertheless, she spoke of this place with nothing but fondness.  The stories she most wished to tell me were always of him.  Of this house.  They would slip out of the grand parties his parents threw and find themselves here.  You could apparently hear the orchestra from here.  They used it as something of a personal dance hall.” 

Hecate is not a woman who cares for frippery or excess.  Severus has never heard her speak like this about something so indulgent, but the way she is moving and taking in the room, he feels as if she can almost hear the long-gone music.  He is sure she is picturing her grandmother turning happily about the room, in the arms of a man she loved who would ultimately break her heart.  There is an unhealthy-looking pond at one end of the palatial conservatory.  Hecate folds softly to sit on the edge of it, trailing the pads of her fingers over the surface of the greenish liquid.  In a moment the water becomes clear and healthy, the lilies floating on its surface uncoil, as if stretching after a long sleep.  Severus watches his wife watch one of the lilies bloom.  It is added to the list of moments he saves, carefully, in his memory to gather up and relive when he is away from her and the world seems dark and hopeless. 

Once he has stored every detail in his mind, Severus quietly crosses the room to his wife and offers her his hand.  She glances up at him, confusion lacing her expression, but she takes the offering anyway.  She can think of few moments in their life when she has chosen not to touch him, given the chance.

Severus doesn’t advertise this fact, but he rather likes dancing.  There’s something about the order and pattern of it that appeals to him – when the right person is in his arms.  Similarly, Hecate confessed long ago that her teenage self had rather a penchant for it. 

Hecate rises and Severus draws her closer, settles his arms around her.  Hecate relaxes against him – it’s become a natural response to being in close proximity to him.  It takes her a moment to realise his intention isn’t simply to hold her, but to turn them slowly about the marble floor in a silent waltz.  Hecate smiles softly at her husband.  “Are you attempting to– ”

“ – Ease the wrongs of the past, yes.”  Hecate closes her eyes and succumbs to the motion, melting further into her husband’s arms.

The truth is, Hecate heard her grandmother speak of the galas that occurred here so often she feels as if she attended them herself.  She can conjure the music in her mind while Severus guides them slowly across the floor.  He rubs her fingers gently between his as they dance.  Soon Severus slows the waltz to a gentle shuffle, and Hecate rests her head against his shoulder. 

“Tell me more about your grandmother.”  Severus requests softly. 

“Her name was Estrella.  She was something of a force of nature.  She was mistaken for a comet one night on her broom.  Muggle astronomers couldn’t understand how such a thing had disappeared.  But she was deeply sentimental.  When Edward relayed the story of their relationship many years later to a playwright, she inspired a song.”  Hecate notices now that they have ceased moving.  “Something about leaving one’s heart in an English garden.  It was a parting line she left him with one evening.  That she’d always leave her heart in this English garden as long as he could be found here.” 

“A noble sentiment.”  Severus says, his eyes boring into hers.

“Certainly a sentiment.”  Hecate retorts. 

Severus does not mean to chastise her, but he feels the need to remark “My heart remains wherever you are.” 

“Rather a different situation, my love.  You _did_ marry me.” 

“I would leave it with you even if you had rejected me out of hand.” 

Hecate can feel the subtext in his words, can feel the increasing danger of them descending into a much more serious conversation than she’s intended – one that covers the risk they will soon be parted.  Hecate is all too aware of the cloud that hangs over their marriage, it roughly takes the form of a Dark Mark.  Up until now, she’s managed to avoid turning her mind towards it tonight.  She decides to close the conversation, move them back to happier territory.  After all, that is the point of these little outings. 

“As would I.”  Severus traces the line of her face.  She is more precious to him than he’d believed anyone could be.  Severus removes his wand from his cloak and points it lazily to the splendid but dry fountain that occupies the centre of the conservatory.  In a moment, sparkling slivery liquid is tumbling from the mouths of fish and other elaborate features of the marble ornament.  The base begins to fill, and each time a drop of the enchanted liquid strikes a surface, a note rings out throughout the conservatory. 

Hecate’s lips curve into an appreciative smile as the secret symphony fills the room.  Severus secures his arms back around her and begins turning her across the floor once more. 

“How is it I have never asked you where you learnt to dance, darling?” 

“Haven’t you?”  Severus frowns. 

“I don’t recall the answer if I have.  And I do have a habit of remembering answers.”  Severus’ lip ticks affectionately.  She is a painful know-it-all at times; he rather likes that about her.

“The teachers attempted to introduce a dance after the Christmas feast in my fifth year.  Dance lessons were briefly mandatory.” 

“I take it the Christmas dance wasn’t a rousing success?”

“It was rather too successful for the Headmaster’s liking.”

“Ah.” 

Severus spins her lazily, before remarking “The skills have proven useful in later life.” 

“They certainly have.”  She concurs, thinking of the many happy occasions she has succumbed to the pull of music and her husband’s arms.

The couple contentedly floats across the conservatory in each other’s arms for the next two hours, before Hecate reluctantly remarks that they should return home.  A minor scuffle ensues over the mode of transportation home, which Hecate wins in much the same way she distracted him on the way there.  Severus curses himself.  He should be used to this particular trick, but his wife’s lips distract him every time.


	4. Those stars above us shining, well I made them for you darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once they are both suitably put together, Hecate remarks “Well, that was a rather unexpected end to the evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um. This chapter went to a place. An MA15+ kinda place. I didn't mean it to, it just kinda happened. 
> 
> The chapter title, like the fic itself, is from Jess Ribeiro's Slip The Leash. It basically inspired the whole fic and I highly recommend a listen. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. This is the last chapter of this one (unless I have a brilliant idea, then I'll totally bolt it on like I do with everything), but I do have some more planned for these two. Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos! I love you for it <3 
> 
> xxT

“Where have we landed tonight, darling?”  Hecate asks smoothly, making a quick recovery from the sensation of her organs being wrung out like venomous tentacular leaves before being added to a sleeping draught.  Her eyes travel over the shadows of barely discernible horizon, shoreline, cliffs.  She can tell the location is beautiful, even in the darkness.  Severus has chosen well – as he should, for he knows her well. 

“Nowhere as exotic as usual, I’m afraid.”  Severus is standing behind her, taking in what he can of the view while inhaling the delicate scent of his wife’s hair.  She almost bumps his cheek with the brim of her hat as she turns towards him.  He takes the opportunity to bend his head and kiss her beneath its brim.  His hand is on her waist, but the line of her body is obscured below her heavy cloak.  Hecate is surprised that in the years they’ve been together, the sensation of his mouth against hers has never lost its novelty.  She reaches for his face with a gloved hand, contented to spend the evening kissing him on a clifftop with no grander plan at play.  Severus, though, naturally _has_ a grander plan – one he’s been concocting for some time now. 

“You seem to have quite forgotten your earlier line of inquiry, my love.”  Severus observes, his mouth near enough to hers to almost touch – but not quite.  The distance is maddening.

“I found a more interesting topic.”  Hecate is deadpan, manages to keep her eyes from dropping to his lips.  There is a beat, an impasse.  The only movement between them is the minute tick of pleasure that bends Severus' lips.  Eventually Hecate says “Edify me, darling.  Where are we?” 

“Étretat,” Severus answers smoothly. 

“We are in Normandy?” 

“I expected slightly more consideration before your conclusion.”  Hecate thinks Severus surely must know by now that her preferred mollusc shells are sourced from Normandy; she has seen the label on the jar enough times to recall the French name of the place. 

“It’s unlike you to underestimate my powers of deduction.”  She replies coyly. 

“A mistake I won’t repeat, Cate.” 

“See that you don’t.”  Hecate says, turning back to the barely perceptible horizon, inhaling the damp, salty sea air.  There is something restorative about it; Hecate stands quietly and lets it seep into her body. 

“The cliffs are lit, earlier in the evening.  They rather attract the tourists.”  Hecate refrains from remarking that the lights may also have the effect of allowing her to see the cliffs.  But the cliffs aren’t actually Severus’ purpose for the evening, merely an added bonus on the way to the main attraction.  Hecate can just make out the elegant arch the sea has carved out of the cliffs, the Aiguille rising, pyramid-like from the ocean. 

“It must be a stunning view, on a clear day.”  Hecate remarks. 

“It is rather humbling.”  Severus admits.  But before Hecate can give much more thought to the landscape, Severus has taken her hand firmly and swept them into a fresh apparition.  Their feet touch down on uneven, damp stone at the mouth of a cave concealed in the vast cliffs.  Severus illuminates his wand and Hecate works her gaze over the cragged walls.  There are pools throughout the cave, which, now illuminated, are so vividly turquoise they are almost glowing.  Severus takes Hecate gently by the elbow and leads her deeper into the caves, through stalagmites and stalactites, until they come upon a clear chamber within the cave system.  It is an inconceivably perfect space, considering it has been in no way influenced by human design.  When they reach one of the flatter planes of rock, surrounded by pools of still, clear water, Severus halts. 

“Lie down.”  He instructs in the idiosyncratic drawl that still makes Hecate’s stomach lurch on a regular basis.  But tonight, Hecate’s eyebrow shoots skyward and her mouth curls dubiously. 

“Surely you have known me long enough now to guess my views on… amorous outdoor exertions?”

Half of Severus’ mouth ticks with amusement, his eyes soft and fond.  “Trust me.”  He offers her a hand to help her sink onto the stone.  Hecate had braced for coldness to seep into her body, but finds the stone temperate to the touch.  She removes her hat and gloves primly and sets them down out of the way.  Severus follows, folding to sit beside her and lying on his back.  Hecate finally relents and finds herself staring at the domelike roof of the cave.  Once she has settled beside him, Severus takes her hand in his and noxes his wand.  Hecate had expected darkness, but instead she is greeted by a thousand little lights appearing on the roof of the cave.  At first, Hecate wonders if Severus has replicated the charm that’s been cast on the ceiling of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but she dismisses this – the night was cloudy and dark, far from the magnificent sweep of stars she sees before her. 

“How did you…?”  Hecate asks, the sentence dying on her lips. 

“Unfortunately I can claim no credit for the display.”  Hecate turns her head to meet his gaze.  “They are lampyris noctiluca.” 

Glow worms.  Of course. 

Hecate doesn’t realise she is drawing closer to him until the edge of her arm and leg are pressed against his.  She turns back to the stunning display above her.  Her head tilts so it is touching his shoulder.  By the end of the night she will have a terrible crick in her neck, but she shan’t regret the action that led her to the pain. 

“They are beautiful.”  She murmurs.  Severus runs his thumb over the knuckle of hers. 

“I find it a useful place to think.”  A moment passes in which she does nothing but listen to his deep, measured breathing.  “You are the only person I have wanted to share it with.”

Hecate does what she does best at moments of emotional significance, turning to dry humour, and says “I should hope so.  The effect is rather romantic.” 

The pair turns towards each other.  Their eyes meet fondly before they return their attention to the luminous insects above them. 

After minutes of calm silence, Hecate raises her arm and begins connecting the pseudo-stars, drawing constellations in the air.  Sparks bloom at her gestures, lingering softly in the air.  Taking up the challenge, Severus raises his wand and begins scrawling cramped names in in the centre of her creations.  They are more detailed and recognisable than the likes of Ursa Major. 

In the belly of a phoenix, Severus scribbles, _resurgat_.  He sees Hecate’s lip tick with approval and takes this as a sign to continue his work.  A rudimentary clock-face is branded _fugit inreparabile tempus_.  Hecate finds a mermaid in the sea of glow-worms.  Severus leaves her name in English – _iron pyrite_.  Hecate laughs softly.  Severus marks a great snake with _fidelis_ , and he feels the slightest tightening of his wife’s fingers around his.  Hecate hesitates for a moment, and Severus takes the opportunity to reach for her arm, guide her fingers.  Soon a panther is prowling across their sky – the animal that has always reminded him most of her.  In her economical italic script, Hecate annotates the panther with _Semper tua_.  Severus is perpetually floored by how deeply she understands him.

Their hands slowly lower, his still softly grasping her wrist, and come to rest across their bodies.  It isn’t a particularly comfortable position, but neither half of the couple can bear to let the other go. 

“I will love you no matter what happens, Hecate.”  Severus says quietly. 

“Shhh, darling…”  Hecate replies just as softly.  “I know.”

They lie under their makeshift star-scape for another hour, slightly repositioning over time to be in closer contact, teasing each other’s fingers softly.  By the time they are preparing to leave, Hecate is itching to have his hands elsewhere on her body.  When they finally rise from the floor of the cave, Severus senses the slight shift in her, the well-concealed agitation.  He takes his advantage, chooses a moment they are in close proximity to a wall, and presses her against it.  She says his name, her tone chiding, but he halts her protest by pressing his mouth to hers, trailing his tongue over her lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.  A noise catches in the back of Hecate’s throat; Severus pins her more tightly against the wall, and Hecate rolls her body against his.  Severus pulls away from her, framing her face with his hands.  Her lips are deliciously flushed, her breath coming in quick bursts. 

“Take me home.”  She instructs him, the most delicious promise in her tone.  Severus scrapes his teeth softly across a pulse-point on her neck, before soothing the skin with his tongue.  His hands are firm around her ribs now, one of hers is holding his cloak in a tight fist.  He grazes her breast with his palm, holding her gaze in an unconcealed challenge. 

“Home?”  He will happily apparate them out of here if she tells him to now.  In truth, he’d not been planning this part of the night when he chose the location, but the intimacy of the evening has rather overtaken him.  Hecate does everything in her power to keep from shifting her body against his, seeking friction, but her hips have developed agency of their own, and the soft glow behind him is nearly as enchanting as Severus himself. 

She shakes her head.  Winding an arm around him Hecate murmurs “Here.” 

Severus swoops down to raise her skirt, caressing her leg maddeningly on the way.  Hecate is suddenly very glad she opted for a shirt and skirt today rather than her usual dress.  While she hadn’t predicted the occasion would call for the more accessible of the two outfits, she is glad the stars have aligned.  Her fingers set to work on the buttons of his trousers once he is upright again, while he takes the liberty of winding her leg around his hips.  They sustain a heated kiss while each works to reduce the amount of clothes their lover is wearing.  That is, until Severus nips once more at her throat and mumbles “I am, as ever, disappointed at your insistence on underwear, Cate.” 

Hecate smirks, ghosting the points of her nails over his scalp and making him perceptibly shudder in her arms. 

Hecate succeeds in unfastening his trousers.  “I think you’ll find life isn’t fair, my love.”  She mumbles against his temple, eliciting a rumble of laughter from her husband.  Severus vanishes her knickers with a flick of his wand, and Hecate arches back against the wall of the cave.  The shift in her position makes it easier for Severus to unbutton her black shirt and slip her right breast from the cup of her bra.  Hecate pulls him back to her mouth, growling as he rolls her nipple between his fingers.  He pins her flush against the wall with his body and slips his fingers into her silky core.  Her head falls back and her eyes clench shut.  Severus releases her breast and redirects her head.  “Open your eyes.”  He instructs her, deliberately using the tone that always makes her knees weak.  She pulls him closer with her leg while his name falls pleadingly from her lips.  He does not alter his rhythm, maintains eye contact fastidiously.  Hecate winds her arms around his shoulders, trying to bring him nearer to her.  She leans forward, her tongue seeking his hungrily.  He finds the utterly mortal place within her that makes magic happen, and she falls apart around his fingers.  The noise she makes when she comes is among his favourite sounds in the world.  He brings his fingers to his lips and licks her juices from his skin.  She kisses him before moving to his ear.  “I need you.”  She breathes. 

Severus needs no further incentive to bury himself inside her.  He groans with the delight of it, while Hecate pulls his mouth back to hers.  She is an inherently precise person, but she kisses him messily at moments like this, her hunger for him overtaking the controlled part of her brain.  Her hips urge him on, and Severus loses himself utterly in the sensation of his wife.  Hecate’s head falls back and Severus takes the opportunity to ghost his teeth down her throat.  He lifts her standing leg and winds it around his hips, sinking deeper inside her.  She pants his name into his ear; he can tell she’s close once again from the hitch in her voice.  When she comes around him a minute later she takes him over the edge with her; her name falls from his lips like a charm. 

Severus gently releases one of her legs, waits until she seems to have it firmly on the ground before releasing the other.  He leans against her, letting his head fall to the curve of her shoulder while his respiratory rate comes back to something in the normal range.  Hecate leaves her arms around his shoulders, holding him to her in a way that is both tender and insistent.  She does not want to let him go.  He has no intention of making her. 

Hecate couldn’t guess how long they spend in this position, but when her arms begin to tingle from so long keeping them raised, she decides that perhaps their bed would be a more comfortable place to spend an evening in her husband’s embrace.  She releases him slowly, and Severus straightens, cupping her face and kissing her on the way.  Hecate waves her fingers and her knickers find their way out of Severus’ robes and back onto her body.  She straightens her skirt before returning her breast to her bra and buttoning her shirt.  Severus’ fingers are taking longer than hers to return to their normal dexterity, so Hecate takes charge of fastening of his trousers.  She kisses him while she does so. 

Once they are both suitably put together, Hecate remarks “Well, that was a rather unexpected end to the evening.” 

“Yes.”  Severus agrees in his idiosyncratic drawl, eyes drinking in her still-flushed face hungrily.  Hecate leans against him lightly, reluctant to lose any contact with him.

Hecate transfers her gloves and hat back to her hand before murmuring “I think it’s time you took me home.” 

Severus’ lips quirk at her tone, at the promise of falling into bed with her, and, even after all this time, at the idea that she really is his to fall into bed with. 

Normally, Severus would harvest some of the glow-worms for his potion work, but tonight he feels they have served him too well to remove them from their habitat.  He leaves them as they are, the superimposed constellation markings fading as time wears on.  He kisses her to distract her from her dislike of apparating, and soon they are home, safely ensconced in the duvet and utterly, utterly sated from their evening outing. 

**Author's Note:**

> The chapter title is from the song In The Current by Tim Freedman. 
> 
> "In the current my trust  
> And to the sea -   
> Surrender and obey and please  
> Send my love and say the mermaids sing to me"


End file.
